


oh, how he looks down on us sinners

by mickthekid



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Anal Sex, Catholicism, Church Sex, Flirting, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Priest Mickey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-08 03:58:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12246534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickthekid/pseuds/mickthekid
Summary: Five pews away from the altar sits a young man leaning back against his seat, relaxed in a way the surrounding churchgoers are not. The man’s eyes are focused on Mickey, carrying a sense of teasing amusement together with his mouth, one corner turned upward like he’s at a club in the process of eye-fucking the hell out of some fortunate soul.--In which Father Milkovich goes against the teachings of the Bible with one Ian Gallagher, and doesn't feel particularly guilty about it.





	oh, how he looks down on us sinners

**Author's Note:**

> This is what I wrote instead of being productive. Enjoy!
> 
> (Also note: I'm not Catholic and I don't live in a Catholic country, so the few details regarding that, or Christianity in general, are based on what I gathered from the good old internet. Feel free to let me know if something's completely off.)

The last five minutes of the service are starting to tick by when he catches Mickey’s eye.

Five pews away from the altar sits a young man leaning back against his seat, relaxed in a way the surrounding churchgoers are not. The man’s eyes are focused on Mickey, carrying a sense of teasing amusement together with his mouth, one corner turned upward like he’s at a club in the process of eye-fucking the hell out of some fortunate soul.

Mickey’s face carries a light red undertone by the time he collects enough willpower to force his eyes off the captivating man in his audience. He ignores the warmth that’s running down his body, in his stomach, and raises his arms to say his final blessings.

 

Once Mickey has said his goodbyes to the last old lady who certainly has more to say than she has days left, he makes his way into the vestry. He makes sure to leave the door slightly ajar when he’s entered, but he doesn’t worry about checking behind it again. Not a minute later the door creaks again, and a couple of taps against it echo through the room.

“Knock knock,” comes a voice from the doorway. It sends a shiver down Mickey’s spine and he’s already smiling when he turns around. The redhead is leaning against the doorframe with his hands in his jeans’ pockets, a small smirk on his face as he looks straight into Mickey’s eyes, as confident as only a couple of minutes ago.

“Ian.” The bottom of Mickey’s stomach feels even warmer than before and his heartbeat is actively increasing, but he keeps his voice steady as he stares back with an equally firm expression. “How was the service?”

Ian shrugs a shoulder. “It was okay. A little too much God talk, but it was okay.”

“Ain’t that kind of the point?” Mickey asks, leaning against the opposite wall. “Talking about God?”

“That’s not really why I continue to come to these things.” Ian steps out of the doorway, closes the wooden door behind himself and takes a step toward Mickey.

“That right?” Mickey struggles to stay put, wants to watch Ian take those few steps he needs to reach Mickey. He doesn’t take as long as Mickey would, but the three seconds have Mickey considering lunging forward and letting Ian take him in the middle of the room, perhaps on the spot on the cold floor where other members of the church sometimes settle to think of God.

Ian’s hands spread warmth over Mickey’s skin when one of his palms cups the side of Mickey’s face and the other rests on the spot where his neck meets his shoulder, breath brushing in slow bursts against Mickey’s cheek. “The afterparty’s always been my favorite part,” Ian says in a whisper, and in the next second his mouth is pressed to Mickey’s jaw, the slow suction forcing a sigh out of Mickey.

The hand on Mickey’s shoulder starts moving downward, so slowly it makes Mickey squirm the tiniest bit. It travels down his chest and across his side, circling around Mickey’s hip and squeezing the flesh around the bone.

Mickey’s hands rest on Ian’s broad shoulders as he revels in the feeling of soft lips trailing kisses down his neck and up again, slick and eager as they finally, oh finally, reach the corner of Mickey’s mouth. Ian runs his thumb across Mickey’s cheekbone and covers Mickey’s already parted lips with his own, all the while his other hand is lifting the hem of Mickey’s cassock.

Mickey hears a sharp intake of breath as Ian touches the bare thigh hidden underneath the robe. Ian mumbles a breathy, “ _fuck”_ against Mickey’s mouth, but the initial surprise turns into a squeeze of Ian’s fingers around the flesh and an involuntary thrust of his hips into Mickey’s. “So fuckin’ hot,” Ian says, pulling Mickey’s leg up, up, up, until it rests against his hip. The response Mickey gives is in the form of a groan.

“Table,” he demands, halfheartedly tilting his head to the direction he distantly recalls the counter being in.

It barely takes two seconds for Ian to pull Mickey off the wall and push him to the wooden table in one corner of the room. The way Ian so effortlessly lifts Mickey up and onto the desk makes Mickey’s cock twitch underneath the single layer of clothing, and he gives himself permission to moan a little louder when Ian grabs a hold of his knees and pulls them further apart to fit himself between his thighs. The hem of the cassock rides up with the motion, giving Ian free access underneath.

Mickey leans back on the palms of his hands to give Ian more room to work with. He lifts his hips so that Ian can pull the fabric back from under him. The room fills with muttered encouragements and sighs as Ian rubs the skin under Mickey’s cassock, takes his time feeling him up and memorizing every bump, dip, and mark all over again.

Mickey taps the side of Ian’s throat with two fingers, saying, “Hurry up, fucking killin’ me here.” He pushes his hips forward, sighs when his rock-hard cock brushes against the fabric.

“Patience,” Ian says, but he drops to his knees with a soft _thump_ anyway. He scoots forward and ducks his head, diving underneath the hem of the robe and attaching his lips to the skin right next to Mickey’s junk.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Mickey groans.

“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain,” Ian says, voice muffled against Mickey’s thigh.

“Fuck _off_ , shithe—” His sentence cuts off with the first wet lick of Ian’s tongue up the length of his cock. It makes his head drop back and his eyes squeeze shut, and his hips jerk forward almost violently. Ian runs his tongue up and down a couple of times before circling the head with his lips and lapping at the tip, teasing just to hear Mickey curse again. Ian leans forward on his knees, braces his hands on Mickey’s spread thighs, hollows his cheeks, and finally engulfs Mickey into his mouth.

The warmth of Ian’s mouth around him forces a high-pitched whine out of Mickey, a sound he would be embarrassed about were he not getting his mind sucked out through his cock at the moment. He raises his legs to rest on Ian’s shoulders, bent at the knee so the heels of his Blucher shoes dig into Ian’s lower back. Ian adjusts his position, grabs the undersides of Mickey’s thighs and squeezes them, fingernails digging in, sure to leave his own marks on the pale skin for Mickey to admire later.

When Mickey reaches forward and buries a hand in the red hair, Ian starts tracing a line from the underside of Mickey’s knee, across his thigh, all the way behind his balls to feel his opening. Ian presses his thumb against it, dry, and hums at the whimper he receives.

“You, _fuck_ , you got lube?” Mickey asks, the hand in Ian’s hair tightening its grip.

Ian pulls off Mickey and reaches back, pulling out a travel-sized bottle. He squeezes a generous amount of slick into his palm and spreads it on his fingers, rubs them together to warm it up. He reaches for Mickey’s cock again, and when he goes back to sucking Mickey off, he slides one slick finger into Mickey’s tight opening. Mickey’s toes curl at the burn the penetration creates and he sighs blissfully. He can’t help but stare, practically in awe of Ian, of the way he takes all of him in all the while working him open with long, experienced fingers, maintaining a rhythm that makes Mickey’s eyes roll to the back of his head and his fingers twist in Ian’s hair.

The heat in the pit of his stomach is starting to become too much too soon, taking Mickey by surprise. “Shit, Ian, stopstop _stop_ ,” he hurries, reaching a shaky hand to stop the movement of Ian’s head. It’s hard not to let him continue, his release so close he can practically _taste_ it. Ian pulls off him, a string of saliva following his lips, and Mickey reaches down to squeeze the base of his cock, puffing out a quick breath as the feeling of his approaching release dissipates until it’s nothing more than ever-present lust and desire for the man before him.

“I’m not coming ‘til you’re fucking me,” Mickey says, his voice breathless but stern. He enjoys the way Ian’s eyes darken at the statement, like he’s been waiting for it, hoping, yearning.

Standing up, Ian pops the button of his jeans open and drags his zipper down, throwing his previous teasing leisureliness out the window in lieu of chasing after his own pleasure. Mickey bites his lip as he watches Ian drag the waistband of his underwear down just enough to pull out his solid cock, arches his back as he’s reminded of the length of it.

Ian pulls Mickey forward by the backs of his knees, close enough to where he is inches away from falling off the counter and Mickey is forced to regain balance by encircling Ian’s waist with his legs. With trembling hands, he pulls Ian forward, flush against his body, and initiates another kiss. Ian’s hands squeeze Mickey’s hips, and Mickey responds by reaching down and grabbing the base of Ian’s dick, pulling it forward until it’s pushing against his opening, wet with lube and the spit that’s trickling from his cock down to his perineum.

The first thrust has Mickey’s eyes rolling back and he gasps into Ian’s mouth, the mouth that curves upward at the corners when he hoists Mickey’s legs up higher around his waist. Ian pulls back until just the tip of his cock is inside, and then he pushes in again with enough strength to muster another surprised gasp out of Mickey.

“Yeah,” Ian mumbles, and Mickey looks up from where he’s been staring at Ian’s hips. Ian’s eyes are open, looking down at where his cock is in strong thrusts sinking into Mickey’s pliant body over and over again, hard enough to shake the whole table with every push. Mickey lifts his robe up some more, enough for his rock-hard cock to be in full display, red and leaking against Mickey’s pale stomach.

Squeezing Mickey’s hips once, Ian stills inside of him before pulling out with a grunt. “Turn around,” he says, but doesn’t wait for Mickey’s hazy brain to register the demand before he’s pulling him off the table and turning him to face the wall. Ian pushes one of Mickey’s wobbly legs forward, bent at the knee, to rest on the edge of the table. To Mickey it feels like Ian’s taking minutes and at the same time no time at all when his cock is right there again, pushing in and oh, shit, the _angle_.

“ _Fuck_.” Mickey leans forward to rest his hands on the surface, almost falling on his face in the process, but Ian is a steady weight behind him, strong hands gripping his hips, keeping him still as he starts drilling his cock into Mickey like a man starving.

At this point, Mickey knows he’s not going to last long. Ian’s cock is nailing his prostate on almost every thrust, and Mickey chants his name mixed with gasped breaths of “yeah” on every thrust like the greatest prayer. Mickey’s fingernails press against his own palms, missing the warmth of Ian’s skin, his thighs flex on every other thrust, his head is leaning forward one second, to the side the next, and his hips try their best to meet Ian’s every move despite the hands limiting Mickey’s own movement. The only thing Mickey’s sure of is that he needs to fucking come, the feeling so present it almost hurts. It keeps on building every time he hears Ian moan behind him, feels his hot breath on the back of his neck, smells the unmistakable scent of sex in the air.

Ian’s grunts start getting louder and his thrusts shorter. Through his fucked-out brain Mickey can still murmur quiet encouragements. “Faster, c’mon, Ian, almost there,” he says, ignoring the sting as his thighs dig into the edges of the table. His hand almost feels like it isn’t his at all as it wraps around his own cock, and two strokes is all it takes for him to come with a gasp.

Ian curses against the back of Mickey’s neck, and Mickey grimaces as Ian’s fingernails dig into his waist. Voicing a complaint is the last thing on his mind, however, and instead he leans forward on his hands to give Ian better access. It’s like Ian is using him at this point, fucking his body to get himself off like Mickey is nothing but a blow-up doll. It doesn’t come as a surprise to Mickey just how much he fucking loves that.

When Ian through fast breaths warns that he’s going to come, Mickey clenches his ass around him like an invitation. “Come in me,” he says, voice wrecked in a way it only gets after a good fucking. That seems to seal the deal for Ian, and with a final gasp he presses his hips flush against Mickey’s ass, rolls them into him a couple of times, and Mickey revels in the feeling of Ian’s hot spend filling him up to the brim.

Ian drops his forehead onto Mickey’s shoulder, shaking through the aftershocks of his orgasm, the grip on his hips loosening by the second. All the tension has left Mickey’s body by the time Ian, with a final roll of his hips, slowly pulls out of him, a trail of cum following his softening cock and dripping onto the floor. “Shit,” Ian says, voice light with satisfaction. Mickey agrees with a groan as he brings his leg down from the table, almost collapsing onto the floor but getting a grip on the surface at the last second.

“Oh shit is right.” Mickey leans against the abused counter and grimaces at the feeling of Ian’s cum trickling down his bare legs. “Fuck,” he mumbles, hurrying to wipe the most of it with the hem of his cassock. Ian grabs a pack of tissues from the table and cleans himself up, all the while grinning like he’s just won the biggest prize imaginable. In a way, Mickey supposes, he has.

“I mean it,” Ian finally says once he’s caught his breath. Mickey turns his head to look at him, hair disheveled, jeans still undone, expression confident as he looks at Mickey. “I really, _really_ fucking like you, Mick.”

Mickey’s breath catches in his throat and he takes a tentative step back. He looks toward the door, which is stupid now, after getting thoroughly plowed against the table where his colleagues often do their post-ceremonial work. Getting caught now would be almost hilarious. “Stop,” Mickey says, looking anywhere but at Ian. “I can’t…”

“I know,” Ian says. He takes two steps forward and catches Mickey’s wrist in his hand. The connection makes an uninvited shiver run down Mickey’s spine and he wants to tell Ian to back off, to leave him alone, to not push him. He can’t talk, however, when Ian pushes him back and presses his lips against Mickey’s once more, persistent like he thinks he can communicate every thought and feeling through that single kiss. Mickey thinks it’s ridiculous, but he also gets it.

Ian pulls back too quickly, Mickey almost chases after him, but a large hand presses him back by his chest.

“I’ll see you again tomorrow, okay?” Ian whispers, a glimmer of hope visible in his green eyes. How could Mickey ever say no to those eyes? He’s yet to learn; Ian always wins these fights.

“Okay,” Mickey says, and with a final kiss to his cheek Ian is off, the only evidence of him ever being there being in the form of red marks hiding under Mickey’s cassock.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [tumblr](https://mickthekid.tumblr.com/) now. If someone wants to come chat with me or send a prompt, please do.


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